Air Buds Poem by Della Hodgson James

Out of the distance blue,
Atmosphere and fog
A droning sound penetrates,
The morn.
All eyes are focused eastward
Shaded against the light
As a patrol of the air
Hovers in sight. A blur in the heavens zooming
Nearer on gliding wings,
As their booming echoes, and
Re-echoes from the earth.
Over us then onward, these
Miraculous inventions stream
Never veering right or left
As could be seen. Oh! You marvelous, beautiful things.
With silver wings, and fair,
Onward! Yes Onward!
You patrols of the air.
Onward to westward, these
Shapes begin to fade,
The droning of their voices
Growing dim. The silvery shining objects
Of red, gold, and green,
Has faded in the distance
To a very dusky sheen.
Agast! At all these wonderful
Inventions of time!
We silently watch these
Air birds disappear. Again upon the morrow, at the
First faint droning sound,
We watch with straining orbs
The course on which they bound, as
They are bourn through the heavens
On light wings. We stared.
Onward! Yes Onward!
You patrol of the air.